


soup in the rain

by Pomodoridori



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: ....there’s a bear, Choking, Gen, Mentions of Slavery, but its not really that bad, dont worry about bilbo. bilbo is fine, loss of limb (ssssorta..) but tagging to be safe, some slicing and dicing, the violence isnt super graphic but, there is:
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-02-27 12:52:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13248630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pomodoridori/pseuds/Pomodoridori
Summary: Bilbo's having a bad day.  So is Azog, but he doesn't know it yet.





	1. In the Beginnning

**Author's Note:**

> This was in answer to the prompt: "Azog takes the One Ring from Bilbo. It's beautiful. And it's going to kill him."

Bilbo was not having a very good day.  In fact, Bilbo was having what was probably the worst day of his life.  It had started out innocently enough-- just this morning he’d been having breakfast with the dwarves: the company had been in high spirits since their brush with death in the mountains.  Kili and Fili were joking, as always, and Bombur had cooked a soup that was delicious, even if it was a bit over-salted by Hobbit standards.  Even Thorin was smiling at his nephew’s antics.  Overall, Bilbo would have to say that the day had started wonderfully.

But by lunchtime everything had gone downhill.  Clouds had blotted out the sun, and when rain had come pouring down from the sky the paths they’d been trotting down on their ponies became thick and treacherously slick with mud.

And then, with no warning at all, a warg had leapt over the crest of a nearby hill.  With it came the orcs.

And that was when Bilbo’s day went to absolute shit.

\---

Bilbo woke with a mouth full of greasy fur and the smell of rotten fish in his nostrils.  He gagged and immediately regretted it, because it set his head pounding.  Something hissed at him and thumped his back angrily, and when Bilbo opened his eyes in surprise he found that he’d been trussed up and strapped to the back of a warg.  A scrawny orc was guiding the creature, and he was giving Bilbo a nasty look.  Bilbo swallowed nervously and closed his eyes.   _ Maybe when I wake up I’ll find that this was just a nightmare. _

But it was not.  That night, after a long day of uncomfortable travel, Bilbo was dropped unceremoniously at the feet of the most massive orc he’d ever laid eyes on.

The orc was huge and pale and very, very frightening.  Bilbo felt his heartbeat speed up.  Even the orc who’d brought him looked nervous, and that did nothing to calm his nerves.

The pale orc looked down at Bilbo, and then reached for the collar of his shirt to yank him to his feet.  Bilbo stifled a whimper and felt his knees wobble, but he managed to keep them from buckling.  Bilbo had the feeling that if he moved suddenly, whether it be to collapse or escape, he would die.

The orc leaned down to look Bilbo in the face.  He took two long whiffs of air near Bilbo’s neck, and Bilbo winced at his fetid breath.  The orc made a low growling noise, and the hairs on the back of Bilbo’s neck stood up when the light from the fire caught on the blade that protruded from the orc’s mangled arm.   _ Well, shit, _ he thought,  _ this is how I die. _

With a snarl, the orc shoved him backwards, and Bilbo stumbled away, shuddering.  The scrawny orc behind him hissed, but it almost sounded pained.

“Why have you brought me this creature!?  Where are the dwarves?   _ I want them all dead! _ ”

The pale orc’s voice was deep and violent and  _ angry _ .

Bilbo’s breath caught in his throat.

The scrawny orc made a low whining sound.  “The dwarves!” it said, “We attacked them, but then-- there were elves!  We managed to snag this one, this creature, it’s part of the dwarves’ company!”

The big orc growled.  “I asked for the dwarves’ heads on pikes, and instead you bring me  _ this _ soft-bellied creature.”  The orc gestured angrily to Bilbo, and he flinched away from its prothstetic arm. 

The pale orc added something in a heavy tongue that Bilbo couldn’t parse--he guessed it was Orcish, and from the way the scrawny orc flinched, it had been something cutting.

As the they continued in orcish, Bilbo focused on not passing out from sheer terror, and tried to think of how he could possibly escape.  His options were depressingly low.

\---

Later, after the big orc had finished snapping at the scrawny one, Bilbo was searched for weapons.  The orcs came away with a knife (one that Kili had lent Bilbo, so he’d be able to learn wood carving from Dwalin) and, when they were unhappy with the result, they stripped him.

The night air was cold against Bilbo’s skin, and he shivered.  The pale orc was watching from across camp, lounging against an enormous white warg.  Bilbo  _ hated _ being exposed, and his things being rifled through made him angry.  Worst of all was how the orcs leered at him and poked at his soft skin.

But soon they were done going through his clothes and pack, and Bilbo was allowed to wear his shirt and pants and cloak again.  The orc who was watching him get dressed assured him the only reason why he could wear his things again was because none of it would fit the orcs, and besides, it was cold outside and they didn’t want him to freeze to death.  Yet.   Bilbo shivered, hoping that whatever the orcs had planned for him was not painful (but he doubted it.)

It took a few moments for Bilbo to realize his ring was missing.  He still had his spare button in his pocket, but the ring...the ring was gone.  Something in his gut twisted, and Bilbo swallowed hard.   _ Dammit.  I should have expected as much, but still...the ring’s mine.  And important to me. _

\---

Azog had personally gone through the hobbit’s things.  He didn’t trust his subordinates-- if there was anything precious on the creature they’d try to make off with it.  He already had to snap at them when one tried to keep the knife that the hobbit had been hiding in his shirt pocket.

Azog was surprised to find a small golden ring in the creature’s vest pocket.  It was a brilliant little thing, all shiny in the light.  Azog didn’t normally care for gold, but something about this ring was...special.  He tucked it away in his bag for safekeeping and finished sorting through the hobbit’s clothes.  There was nothing else of interest.

\---

Azog went to sleep with satisfaction sitting warm and heavy in his belly.  He’d captured a member of Oakenshield’s company and could use the small hobbit as bait for the dwarves.  Soon, the Dwarfscum would be within his grasp.  Besides, the little hobbit and his ring were pretty, and Azog had always liked pretty things.

He curled next to Daisy and closed his eyes.

\---

The next day, Azog woke in a good mood.  He’d had pleasing dreams-- he couldn’t remember them exactly, the details were hazy-- but he did know that the pretty little ring was the cause.  Azog wasn’t usually enamoured by gold: he valued good hard steel above gold’s soft body, but there was something  _ special _ about this ring.  Something about it pulled at him.

Azog absentmindedly turned the tiny ring over in his hands, admiring the way it caught the light.  Eventually, he pocketed it.  There were things to do, and dwarves to catch.  Daisy needed to hunt, and if Azog didn’t get up soon his underlings would do something stupid.  Azog sighed and stretched. 

\---

The scrawny orc that had first captured Bilbo was the one to watch him, although Bilbo was more or less left alone for the next two days.  Sure, the orcs prodded and snapped at him, but they worst they’d do was smack him with their palms.  It could have been worse-- Bilbo could have been tortured, or he could have been killed. Or eaten. But mostly the orcs ignored him unless they were delivering food or watching him when he took a piss.  The scrawny orc even had the decency to cook the bits of meat that were fed to Bilbo.

Bilbo had plenty of time to think about the dwarves.  He worried about them.  Had any of them been injured? Killed?

But from what snippets Bilbo overheard of the orcs conversation, and from what bits of reports he could hear, he gathered that Thorin was staying with the elves in Rivendale.  It seemed odd, to Bilbo, that Thorin would stay with the elves, but it was likely that the company was taking a few days to recover from their losses.

_ Do they even miss me? _  Bilbo wondered.

\---

It was the evening of the third day when the pale orc ordered Bilbo to be brought to him again.

Bilbo was nervous, and he asked the scrawny orc, “Do you think he’s going to kill me?”

The orc bared his teeth.  “I don’t pretend to know what General Azog’s planning.”

_ I’ve heard that name before... _ Bilbo’s eyes widened.   _ No...it can’t be!  Thorin killed him long ago… _

“Wait.  You mean to tell me that your leader is Azog the Defiler?”

The scrawny orc turned to Bilbo and gave him a shrewd look.  “Yes.  He is the great pale orc.  Now shut up.”

Bilbo shut up.

\---

The pale orc--  _ no, Azog _ \-- Bilbo reminded himself, had dark circles under his eyes.  He looked a cross between exhausted and angry.  Bilbo swallowed and didn’t dare meet the orc’s icy gaze.

“Hobbit,” Azog rumbled, “tell me about the ring I found in your pocket.”

Bilbo blinked.   _ This is unexpected.  I thought he’d want to know more about Thorin. _ “Ah, well, I found it in the mountains.”

Azog leaned forward, all menace and bared teeth.  “There’s something special about this ring, isn’t there?”

“I-- I’m not sure,” Bilbo stuttered.  He was absolutely  _ not  _ going to tell Azog that the ring made one invisible.  That would spell death for Thorin and the rest of the company.

Azog growled.  “Don’t lie, hobbit.  I can smell it on you.”

“You can smell lies?”  Bilbo’s voice rose by an octave.  “But, ah, s-sir-- how do you know what lies smell like on a hobbit, if you’ve never met a hobbit before?”

Azog chuckled.  It was not a very nice chuckle.  “Stop stalling and tell me.  There’s something about it.”

Bilbo swallowed, hard, and said, “I-- I just found it.  I don’t know anything about it.”

Azog ground his teeth.  “How, exactly, did you come by it?”

Bilbo could feel sweat beginning to drip down his spine.  “It’s a bit of a story but-- I’ll tell you.”

Azog sat back against his warg and crossed his arms.

Bilbo began to recount his tale under the mountain, and meeting Gollum, and finding the ring.  Azog fidgeted somewhat during the tale, but mostly stayed still to listen.

By the time Bilbo was finished, Azog was scowling.  He snarled something in orcish, and then added, “Enough.  I’ll learn more tomorrow.”

Bilbo was taken by the scrawny orc and tied to his tree again.  He was surprised that he hadn’t been killed yet.

\---

A day later, and Bilbo was roused from his dozing when there was a large commotion at the orc campsite.  He blinked, stiffening and wary when he saw the orcs shouting about something loudly in their mangled speech.

They didn’t seem angry, though.  More like they were excited.

Bilbo squinted when they brought out three huge barrels.  The scrawny orc that was set to watch him made a happy noise low in his throat.

“What is it?” Bilbo said, cautiously, careful not to annoy the orc.

“The raiding party,” the scrawny orc smiled, “they brought back ale.”

Bilbo blinked.  “Ah,” he replied, and decided that, if he wanted to escape, he’d have to do it when the orcs were all drunk.

_ Tonight, then.  Tonight will be my chance. _

\---

That night, the orcs drank.  And drank, and drank.

By midnight, at least half of them had passed out from drink, and the other half was singing loudly and stumbling about.  There had been at least one fight, and it had ended when one of the orcs’ bellies had been slit open and all his intestines had cascaded out.  The orc’d still been shrieking in pain when the wargs had torn him apart.  Bilbo had to swallow back bile.  He was glad that it hadn’t been the scrawny orc assigned as his guard.  He didn’t exactly  _ like _ his guard, but he’d been careful with Bilbo, which was more than what Bilbo had expected.

But now his guard was definitely drunk, and dozing against the tree where Bilbo was trussed up.  Bilbo was busy loosening the knots on his hands--slowly but surely he was pulling the rope nice and loose.  It took him another half hour to make the ropes completely slack, and then he sat still and pretended to be bound until at last the orc camp fell completely silent.

Then, with his pulse beating hard in his throat, Bilbo stood and crept to the edge of the encampment, where Azog lay asleep.   _ I want my ring back. _

\---

Azog was lying next to his warg, curled on his side around his good arm.  His big form was completely relaxed, throat exposed and soft.  It was moving slightly with Azog’s breath.   Bilbo’s knife had slipped out from where it’d been clipped on Azog’s belt, and lay on the ground by his hip.  Carefully, holding his breath, Bilbo reached down and plucked the knife from the ground.

Bilbo froze when Azog’s warg snorted in its sleep, its warm breath washing over his back, but relaxed once he saw that its eyes were still soundly shut.  Bilbo was about to leave when he remembered the ring.  He  _ knew _ Azog had it.   _ But where…? _

_ It’s not his.  It’s mine! My precious ring... _ Bilbo’s face twisted in anger for a moment, and he glared down at the orc who had stolen the ring from him.   _ Bastard.  I should kill you and take it from you.   _ Bilbo could hear the heavy sound of rushing blood in his ears.  His anger was rising.  Bilbo didn’t think he’d ever been this angry in his life.  It was almost frightening.

Bilbo unsheathed his knife, and, trembling a little, put the tip of the dagger against Azog’s throat, ready to plunge it in deep.  The orc made a soft sound and turned his face towards his warg.  Suddenly, a shout sliced through Bilbo’s reverie.  He jerked up, only to see his scrawny orc guard staggering towards him.   _ Shit! _

Bilbo’s eyes widened.  Azog was stirring at the noise, and so were several of the other orcs.  With a curse, Bilbo lurched away from the orc leader and scrambled to the edge of their campsite.  He flung himself into the woods with the knowledge that he had precious little time before the orcs would be on his tail.

\---

Azog woke to a loud commotion.  He snarled at the pain in his head (he regretted the drinks last night, but it had been  _ so long _ since he’d had good ale) and snapped at one of the underlings to tell him what was happening.

“The prisoner,” the little orc said, nervously, rolling his eyes downwards in a show of respect, “he escaped.”

Azog snarled, and the orc cowered.  But before he could raise a hand to the orcling, he felt the cold presence of the Necromancer settle across his shoulders.  Azog shivered.

_ Come to me, _ the Necromancer whispered into his ear.  Azog gave a low growl, and tried shake the Necromancer off.  The smoky cold didn’t budge an inch.

_ Return to Dol Guldur.  You will chase the little hobbit later. _

Azog bared his teeth.  “And what of the dwarves?”

_ Leave them.  You must return. _

Azog hissed, angered, but he knew he could not ignore the Necromancer.  “Very well.”  He turned to the scrawny orc and snarled, “Chase the hobbit down.  Bring him to Dol Guldur.  Alive.”

The little orc bowed and scurried away like a dog with its tail between its legs.

\---

Azog’s stump was aching.  It sometimes did, when the temperatures dropped or after something (or someone) had dangled from it for too long.  The bone would rub against the cold iron running through his flesh and it would hurt, hurt, hurt.  Not as much as when that Dwarf-scum had sliced his hand off, of course-- but still, Azog was careful on these days not to let anything cold touch his stump lest it burn.  He didn’t use his prosthetic except when he absolutely had to, as any pressure made his eyes water.  And Azog didn’t dare show weakness in front of his subordinates.  If too many of them challenged him at once he’d be overrun.

So he surreptitiously leaned against Daisy and pressed his stump into her warm sides.  It’d only warm one part of his arm, of course, but something was better than nothing.

\---

Azog  _ hated _ Dol Guldur.  It was too similar to Mordor, with its dark twisting tunnels like those he’d lived in.  Though Azog would hesitate to call his youth  _ living _ , exactly.  He’d been a slave, bred for war.  The only reason he’d escaped the mud pits was through his wits and superior strength.  Because of them, he’d been able to fight his way into the higher rank of orcs.

Azog sighed, pressing his cheek into Daisy’s side.  He would always be grateful to escape the pits.  To distract himself, Azog pulled out the hobbit’s ring and turned it over in his hand.   _ It’s beautiful _ , he thought.  Azog admired the ring for it’s smooth simplicity.   _ And yet, there is something about it-- _

The biggest difference between Dol Guldur and Mordor was that the ancient fortress was freezing cold and Mordor was boiling hot.  It was the one thing Azog appreciated, because the cold kept the humidity from being suffocating (although the chilly mud that got everywhere was quite unpleasant.)

_ Azog. _

Azog’s head jerked up and he blinked.  “....Master?”

_ Meet with me.  There is something you carry… _

Azog glanced down at the ring.  “I will be with you shortly.”

Azog frowned.  He was not keen on bringing his ring to the meeting, but he knew that no matter where he hid it in this fortress the Necromancer would be able to find it.  With an annoyed hiss, Azog pocketed the ring and strode to the catwalk where he could address the Necromancer.

“Master,” he called, “I am here.”

_ Good, _ the Necromancer’s voice echoed.   _ Tell me of the hobbit. _

Azog nodded, keeping an eye on the shadows as they swelled and crawled along the walls.

But before Azog could even speak, the Necromancer cut across him.

_ You are carrying something.  Show it to me. _

Azog’s eyes widened, minutely.   _ The ring.   _ “Master, I don’t know what--”

_ Don’t play me for a fool, orc! _  The shadows rushed past him, coiling cold and making his stump throb.

Azog hissed.  “Fine.  But it is  _ mine. _ ”

_ We shall see about that.  Show it to me. _

Begrudgingly, Azog pulled the little golden ring from his pocket and sat it in his palm.  He held his hand out, with the ring resting pretty in the center of his palm.

The cold black shadows rushed forwards to envelop his hand, and Azog jerked his fist back.  “No!” he barked.

Azog could feel a growing static pressure in his head, and he knew the Necromancer was angry.

_ I said, SHOW IT TO ME! _

Azog’s arm was jerked forward by some magic force and cold invisible fingers pried his clenched fist open.  Azog hissed in surprise and anger.  “Let go of me!”

The Necromancer’s grip only strengthened, and Azog could feel the bones in his wrist creak.  Azog ground his teeth in anger.

_ Ah yes… _ the Necromancer whispered in Azog’s ear,  _ this ring belongs to Sauron. _

Azog’s breath caught in his throat, and then he roared with an emotion he could not name.

_ Shut up, _ the Necromancer rattled out, and then Azog was being flung across the catwalk into the wall and held there by something icy around his neck.  Azog wheezed and clawed at the cold thing that was choking him but to no avail: his hands passed through it like smoke.

The Necromancer held him there and spoke calmly as he struggled.

_ You will deliver this ring to Sauron in Mordor.  You will take no detours and you will travel alone.  If you try to run away with the ring I will know.  And then you will be hunted to the ends of the earth. _

By the time Azog was dropped to the floor black spots littered his vision and he gasped desperately, clutching at his throat with his one good hand.  He took a few more rasping breaths and looked up with wide eyes at the Necromancer.  His heart was pounding wildly.

_ Now then,  _ the Necromancer continued mildly,  _ I expect you gone by dawn tomorrow. _

Azog nodded, too shaken to respond properly.  He was shivering from the cold.

The Necromancer’s shadows rushed past him in a black dark mist and disappeared into the catacombs, leaving only the ring shining dully on the edge of the catwalk.

Azog eyed it warily.

_ Well, shit _ .  


	2. caught in the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's bad day continues.

Bilbo was lost.  Since his escape from the orc’s camp, he’d been wandering in circles in the same mountainous plains, trying to head east.  He was worried, because he was low on food and finding fresh water was getting harder and harder.  And it was overcast.

The rain started pouring down right about lunchtime, and Bilbo heaved a sigh, resigned to being soaked since there was little cover from the rain.  He headed towards an outcropping of rocks, hoping to find at least  _ some _ overhead cover, perhaps an overhang, and for the first time in days Bilbo had some luck.  A crack in one of the larger rocks had formed a crevice, which opened up into a small covered cave.  Bilbo was delighted.

After poking in the corners to make sure there were no snakes (and finding none), Bilbo began to lay out his pack to dry.  There was no wood with which to make a fire, but there was still enough light filtering in from the outside that Bilbo could see and besides the cavern was sheltered from the wind due to the crevice-- it  was  _ almost _ warm.

In celebration, Bilbo used the last of his meat and his slices of bread to make a sandwich.  It was delicious, and when Bilbo’s belly was full he felt drowsy.  Yawning, he set his canteen outside to catch the rain, and after it had filled he crawled over to his bedroll.

The thick fabric and stuffing was still wet from the rain, but so was Bilbo, so he simply wriggled under it and closed his eyes to sleep.

\---

It was still raining when Bilbo woke the next morning, the sound of it echoing around the cave.  His bedroll had dried during the night, and after making sure no part of it was damp, he rolled it up and packed the rest of his things.  Bilbo ate his last cracker mournfully, and, still hungry, poked his head outside the little cavern.

It took Bilbo three seconds to decide that  _ no, _ he was  _ not  _ going to go out there in the cold wet rain and get soaked  _ again _ and probably sick from the cold.  So he ducked back inside the cave and settled along the wall to wait it out.

He dozed for a bit, and then fiddled with a rock on the floor, and then thought about the ring he’d found and how it’d be nice to have it back.   _ It was useful, dammit. _  Then Bilbo fantasized about a huge feast all laid out in Bag End, and being warm and toasty and slightly over-full.

\---

Bilbo woke with a start when there was a scrabbling noise at the entrance to the cave.

_ Someone is there. _

Bilbo’s pulse jumped and he scrambled to grab his pack.  By the time he’d rolled behind one of the larger rocks littering the cave floor, the light was from the entrance was being blocked out by a monstrous looking shadow.  Bilbo swallowed, closed his eyes hard, and hoped for the best.   _ I wish I still had the ring. _

There was a shuffling noise, and the sound of metal toed boots scuffing the floor.  A rumble, and then, loud sniffing and a contemplative hum.

Something growled, and Bilbo’s heart tried to jump out of his throat.  

_ Oh, fuck me.  Fuck me, it’s a large animal, and it’s going to fucking eat me, this is the end, I’m doomed-- _

“Hobbit..?”

Bilbo  _ knew _ that voice.  It was rough and deep and utterly terrifying.  He stifled a whimper.   _ Please let it be someone else.  Anyone else. _

The growling noise escalated into a snarl.

“Shh,” came the voice again, and the snarl cut off into heavy angry breathing instead.

“Hobbit,” called the voice, “I know you’re behind that rock.  Come out or I’ll set my warg on you.”

Trembling, Bilbo peered out over his boulder and felt the blood drain from his face.   _ Shit. Fuck.  Damn. _

There stood in front of him Azog and his white warg, dripping wet all over the cave floor.

\---

“Oh, fuck,” said Bilbo, and Azog blinked at him.  The warg stepped towards him threateningly, and Bilbo noted the crest of fur along its back was bristling upwards.

“What’re you doing here, hobbit?” Azog asked in his low thick voice.  He had his head cocked to one side in curiosity.

Bilbo glanced with wide eyes at the warg, which was growling now, angry.  He positioned himself further behind the rock so that just his eyes were peering over it.  

Azog put a hand to the wargs side and mumbled something into its ear.  The warg snorted, and the fur on the back of its neck flattened.  It trotted to the entrance of the cave and laid down, effectively blocking the exit.  Azog looked to Bilbo and spread his arms out wide.  “Will you answer me now?”

Bilbo swallowed and stood properly so he was no longer hunched up behind the rock.  “I ah...I got lost.”

Azog lowered his arms.  “You..what?”  He looked confused.

Bilbo crossed his arms, eyeing the exit and wishing that the warg were gone so he could make a break for it.  “I got lost.”

Azog made a low coughing noise, and Bilbo flinched, terrified that it was anger, but then Azog’s shoulders were shaking and there was a loud guttural noise and Azog was  _ howling  _ with laughter.

Bilbo was almost offended.  “I didn’t know where you’d taken me!  _ And  _ I didn’t have a map.”

Azog finished laughing at him with a snort, and then said, “Hobbit, you’ve been heading away from your goal.  You’re a quarter way to the brown lands!”

“The brown lands?”  Bilbo frowned, and then winced when his belly gurgled, loud enough to be heard over the pit-pattering of the rain outside.

“Yes.”  Azog heaved a sigh, and, ignoring Bilbo, fetched his pack from his warg.  Bilbo watched curiously as Azog began to lay out to dry.  He did not carry much: a rope, a knife, some rations, a water pouch, and a large hide (which was wet and smelled of dog and Bilbo’s nose wrinkled.)

Then Azog leaned against the cave wall to watch Bilbo.

After a few awkward minutes, Bilbo worked up the courage to ask, “So you’re planning on killing me, right?”

Azog, still leaning, shrugged.  “I don’t think I’ll need to.”

Bilbo did not like that response.  Still, it was better than he’d imagined.  “Ah.  I, uh, I see. And, um, since you’re not sure about killing me, why don’t you, ahm, that is, just, er, you know--”

“Get to the point,” Azog growled, looking mildly annoyed. 

“Oh,” Bilbo squeaked, “I, ah, was wondering if you’d let me go?”

Azog gave him a very judgemental glance up and down.  “No.  Besides, that’s almost a favor, since you’d probably trip over your own feet and break your neck.”

Bilbo felt his face flush.  “I think not--”

Azog cut him off with a derisive snort and suddenly he was walking towards Bilbo.  Bilbo scrambled backwards, but Azog stopped when he reached a bag on the floor and began rummaging through it.  Then he tossed something at Bilbo, and the hobbit caught it out of reflex.

It was a piece of black bread, slightly damp.

“Eat,” Azog commanded, “I’m tired of hearing your belly rumble.”

Bilbo looked at Azog, then back to the piece of bread in his hand apprehensively.  “I’m not h--”

His stomach, traitorously, grumbled.

Bilbo ate the bread.

\---

Bilbo was...tense, with the Pale Orc hovering around like a great big fly, but he wasn’t terrified.  Especially not after Azog had given him bread.  Bilbo didn’t trust the orc, exactly, but he didn’t expect to be killed.  Or fed to the warg.  Or anything.

In fact, the orc had been rather quiet all afternoon, sitting against the wall watching Bilbo.  At times Bilbo thought he was asleep, but then he’d see Azog’s eyes glint in the gloom.

Bilbo decided he was going to doze, because he was bored as hell and there was nothing to do but listen to the rain.  So he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come.

It didn’t, and Bilbo was stuck sitting uncomfortably on the cave floor.  He missed the dwarves.  They were a merry loud company, and Bilbo trusted them with his life.  He was pretty sure the dwarves thought he was dead.   _ Did they even mourn me? _

Bilbo wallowed in self pity for a few moments before deciding that he needed to think about something else.  Something more interesting, like:  _ where is Azog’s army?  Why is he alone? _

After a while, when the question had been nagging at Bilbo for too long, and his theories were driving him mad, he asked, tentatively, “Where’s the rest of the orcs?”

The glittering of Azog’s eyes was the only indicator he’d heard Bilbo at all.

Bilbo frowned.   _ So he won’t answer, then? _

“...None of your concern, hobbit.”

Bilbo crossed his arms.  “Fine.”

Azog blinked, and then, incredibly, yawned.  Bilbo shuddered at his great big teeth.

“Hobbit.  Come here.”

_ Uhm, I don’t think so. _ Bilbo shook his head.  “No thank you, I’m quite comfortable where I am, thanks.”

Azog made an annoyed growling sound (which, terrifyingly, his warg imitated), and stood.  Then he made his way over to Bilbo, who’d tried to move away, only to find that the warg had stood up angrily and that his knees had gotten wobbly all of a sudden.

By the time Azog grabbed Bilbo around the arms he was shuddering with fear.  “Please,” Bilbo squeaked, “don’t--”

“Stop squealing,” ordered Azog, and Bilbo shut up.

The orc then set about tying Bilbo’s arms and legs with his rope.  Bilbo didn’t bother with trying to struggle.  Azog was surprisingly dextrous with his prosthetic arm, although he dropped the rope once with a curse when it slid off the end of one of the prongs.  Then Azog set Bilbo down on the floor of the cavern (more gently than Bilbo had expected.)

Bilbo squirmed in his bindings, and, finding them secure, asked, “Why’d you tie me up?”

Azog rumbled at him.  “I’m tired, and I don’t want you trying to run off.  Daisy’d probably eat you.”

Bilbo blinked.  “Daisy?”

“She’s my warg.”  Azog’s face was completely solemn and despite his fear Bilbo almost choked on a laugh.

“I-- I see,” Bilbo wheezed out.

Azog gave him an odd look and plodded over to his warg’s-- Daisy’s-- side to curl up against her. 

Bilbo stared at them.   _...I can’t believe he named his warg Daisy. _

The ground was pretty uncomfortable without his bedroll, and Bilbo heaved a sigh.   _ I hate this. _

\---

Azog didn’t seem to need much sleep, as he woke Bilbo in the middle of the night while untying him.

“The rain’s stopped,” Azog said, and Bilbo groaned something rude at him, because he’d been asleep (if uncomfortably.)  Azog had little trouble getting Bilbo to stand, although Bilbo kept stumbling and almost falling over, kept in place impatiently by Azog’s good hand.  Bilbo only tried to struggle when Azog began steering him in the direction of his massive warg, but then Azog smacked the back of his head with his prosthetic and everything got blurry for a bit.

The next thing Bilbo was aware of he was sitting astride the white warg with Azog at his back.  His head hurt.  The night air was cold and biting and Bilbo cringed against it.  Eventually, though, once he was done shivering, Bilbo fell asleep to the rhythmic motion of the warg’s trot.

\---

When Bilbo woke, he was lying on his back in a field of grass, and the sun was trying to blind him.  Groggily, and half convinced he was dreaming, Bilbo sat up.  But then the overwhelming smell of wet dog assaulted his nostrils and he noticed the ropes tying his wrists and feet.

“Damn,” Bilbo said, and then looked behind him.

Azog was curled sleeping against his warg, who was watching Bilbo suspiciously out of the corner of her eyes.  Bilbo smiled at her innocently and lay back down so that she wouldn’t be tempted to rip his throat out.  Bored, Bilbo watched an ant climb up a grass stalk, and the birds flying overhead, and a spider sitting in its web.  At the end of his rope, he turned his gaze to Azog and his warg.

Azog was still asleep, though every once in a while one of his limbs would twitch, or he’d grunt or mumble something unintelligible.  In the sunshine, Bilbo could see details that he’d missed in the cave.  There were a ring of dark grey bruises around Azog’s neck, and bruises on his wrist.  Bilbo frowned.   _ Azog’s powerful.  I wonder how the hell he got those?  Surely there can’t be an orc any larger… _

As time passed, Bilbo felt his mouth beginning to get dry.   _ Ugh, I’m thirsty. _  Azog was still soundly asleep, and the warg still had an eye open that was lazily watching Bilbo.  Heaving a sigh, Bilbo sat up.  The warg watched suspiciously as he cleared his throat. 

“Um,” Bilbo said, somewhat quietly, “Azog?”

The warg-- Daisy-- pulled her lips back in a snarl but didn’t make any noise.

Bilbo tried again, and little louder.  “Azog!”

Daisy lifted her head and gave a low warning growl.  Azog’s ear twitched.

_ Dammit.   _ “I thought you were supposed to be a light sleeper, or something,” Bilbo said, and then added, “you dumb brute!” almost at the top of his voice.

This time, Azog woke with a start, jerking awake.  Daisy made a noise that was a cross between a hiss and a growl and Bilbo hoped he’d never have to hear again.  She started to rise but then stopped when Azog grabbed at her fur with his hand.

Growling, Azog turned to give Bilbo a steely cold look.  “I hope you have a good reason for waking me up, hobbit.”

Bilbo was terrified, so he did the only thing an intelligent hobbit would do: turn his nose up in the air and state, “ _ I _ am thirsty,” in the most regal tone possible.

Risking a quick glance down his nose, and Bilbo found Azog looking incredulous.

“You woke me up in the middle of the day _because_ _you were thirsty_?”

“Parched,” amended Bilbo, still with his nose up, and trying to hide his shivers.

Azog made a long-suffering noise and stood to fetch the water.  Bilbo was relieved he wasn’t currently being mauled.

They continued on that night, and only then did Bilbo stop to think:

_ Where are we going? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This has kind of turned into a ‘road trip with two enemies’ sort of thing. I am looking forward to having Azog describe Bilbo as a ‘soft potato’ or ‘really big grub’. I’m going to make that happen. And then Bilbo’s going to make offended noises. Yes. That will most certainly happen.
> 
> Please leave me a comment letting me know what you liked!!! The more (nice) comments I get, the more likely I am to update this hunk o’junk sooner rather than later.


	3. it all goes to hell, pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is too nice for his own good.

Bilbo was getting used to riding the warg.  It was far from comfortable-- Daisy’s sides were much too wide and the saddle chafed his legs raw and he limped when he got off-- but he no longer felt like he was about to fall every time she made a jump, or trotted.  Azog didn’t seem too concerned about the condition of Bilbo’s legs, but then again, the great big orc didn’t seem very concerned about much of anything.

When Bilbo asked about grease or oil he might use to stop the chafing, Azog simply shook head head and said, “You hobbits have skin far too soft.”  But after that, Bilbo noticed the saddle was oddly smooth, like someone had buffed it, and his legs no longer got red and raw.  It helped that Bilbo’s legs had gotten much tougher, too.

\---

Bilbo wished he could see more of the scenery, but they did most of their traveling at night, when Azog and Daisy were most alert.   As such, Bilbo never quite knew where they were. It was disconcerting, and Bilbo’s lack of sleep made it worse.  Sleeping when Daisy was moving was almost impossible, and although Bilbo was fairly certain Azog would do his best to keep Bilbo from falling (if only to avoid the waste of time having to stop and get him back up), he still didn’t want to wake up by cracking his head against the ground.  And napping during the day was difficult, because the sun was shining and Bilbo wanted to  _ move _ .

But eventually Bilbo would fall asleep to the sound of Azog’s heavy breathing (not quite snores, but certainly rumbling) and then he’d wake with Azog slinging him over a shoulder to set him on Daisy.

One day, Azog didn’t tie Bilbo up when he was going to sleep, and Bilbo thought the orc had forgotten, until Azog said, “There’s nowhere for you to run any more.  We’re getting close.”

“Close to where?” Bilbo’d asked.

Azog answered him with a scowl.

“Oh, just tell me already,” Bilbo groused, crossing his arms.

Azog let out a huge long breath of air.  Bilbo was fairly sure it was a sigh.  Then, with an unhappy grumble, Azog said, “Mordor.”

Bilbo felt the blood leave his face. “Mordor?!  But I’ll be eaten or killed or something!”

Azog frowned.  “I’ll likely be killed, too.”

“Then why the hell are you even  _ going _ to Mordor?!”

Azog shifted a little, and for the first time ever Bilbo saw a trace of discomfort on the massive orc’s face.  “I was ordered to.”

“By  _ who _ ?”  Bilbo was incredulous.   _ There’s someone who orders Azog around?! _

“My Master,” Azog said, face getting cold and shuttered.

Observing the orc’s face, Bilbo decided not to pursue the conversation.  He’d rather not get skewered for asking one too many questions, after all.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Azog said, “Tell me about the hobbits.”

Bilbo blinked, and then sat back.  “Well, there’s not much to say.”   _ If he decides to invade the Shire... _

Azog gave him a critical look.  “I’m not stupid, you know.”

Bilbo squirmed a little under the orc’s heavy gaze.   _ What can I tell him that’ll make him want to stay away..? _

Azog was beginning to get a pinched face on his face that Bilbo thought was annoyance (although the orc was kind of hard for Bilbo to read because his body language was so _ different _ ) by the time Bilbo said, “Flowers!  Flowers.  There’s lots of flowers.”

Azog leaned forward a little.  “...flowers?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” Bilbo said, “they’re, uhm, everywhere in the spring.”   _ Orcs don’t like flowers, right?  _

“What kinds of flowers?”  Azog asked, sounding a little suspicious. 

“Well, uhm, a lot.  There’s lavender and lilacs and lilies and uh, erm, daisies, which are more of a weed than anything--” Bilbo suddenly cut himself off in horrified realization when the warg opened her eyes.   _ Daisies? _

Azog’s ears twitched a little, and he rumbled. “Daisies, hm?”  Daisy nudged his back with her snout.

“Yeah,” Bilbo said, a little faintly, giving the white warg a baleful glare.  After a moment, Bilbo added, “Why’d you name her that?”

Azog took a moment to respond before saying, “She’s the same color as one.”

“But why a flower? Why not something terrifying like Butcher, or Brute, or--”

Azog huffed at him.  “Daisies are the most beautiful thing that grows near Gundabad.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, at a loss.

Something frightening shifted across Azog’s face before he heaved a sigh.  “I am going to sleep now.”

“Okay,” Bilbo said, mostly to fill the awkward silence, and then laid back with his hands behind his head to watch the clouds, relishing in his newfound freedom. 

That was the last sunny field Bilbo slept in for a long time.

\---

“Wake up,” Azog said, poking at Bilbo with his foot.

“Uhhgn,” Bilbo replied, rubbing at his eyes.  He heard Azog’s gait thump away, before Daisy padded over.  Bilbo sat up, still wary of Daisy’s sharp teeth but not worried enough to get up.  It was early evening, and the dusk made her white fur look grey.

“Hobbit,” Azog grumbled.  “We need to go.”

“Yes, yes, I’m getting up.”  Bilbo stood and stretched before making note of the sun’s low position on the horizon.  “Damn, I really  _ did _ sleep all day.”

“Well, you were up most of the night,” Azog said, before boosting Bilbo up onto Daisy’s back.  “Since I had you tell me about the Shire.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bilbo said.  “I thought I fell asleep though.”

“I kept waking you up.”

Bilbo thought about that for a moment.  “That’s shitty.”

Azog grunted before hoisting himself onto Daisy.  “We’ve got a long way to travel, tonight.  By dawn we’ll have reached the edge of the marshes.”

Bilbo wrinkled his nose.  “I can’t wait for the smell.”

Azog made a noise that signified disagreement.  “I don’t know why you would look forward to the smell of the dead, Hobbit.”

Bilbo almost giggled, but thought better of it when he saw Azog’s prothstetic gleaming in the half-light. “I was being sarcastic.”

“...I see,” Azog said in a tone that told Bilbo that  _ no _ , he certainly did  _ not. _

“It’s, uh, saying the opposite of what you feel.  S’like irony.”

“Irony.”  Azog sounded even more confused.

“You know what? Never mind.”  _ I don’t want to try and teach Azog about sarcasm.  Or irony.  He’s far too literal to really grasp it. _

Azog rumbled something rude under his breath and spurred Daisy forward. 

\---

By the time dawn broke it was cold and wet and miserable.  Bilbo was hunched on Daisy, shivering.  “Azog, I’m freezing,” Bilbo griped.  “I don’t really think I can keep going in this weather.”

“We’re almost there.”

Bilbo groaned and clutched at his arms tighter to try and preserve some kind of heat.  “It’d better be close by, or I’ll get hypothermia.”

Azog snorted.  His breath was white against the wan sunlight.

\---

It took another twenty minutes for them to arrive at the cave, and by that time Bilbo’s teeth were chattering.  Azog didn’t seem to be very affected, and hopped off Daisy like nothing was wrong.

“I am going to make a fire.”

Bilbo nodded, and then stiffly lurched off of the warg’s back.  Azog gave him an odd look.

“I’m frozen solid,” Bilbo grumbled, before sticking his fingers into his armpits because they’d gone numb.  

Azog tilted his head to the side curiously.  “I’ve only ever seen that happen to southern uruks.  And when they froze they died. ...we left their corpses on the mountain.  They were too hard for the wargs to eat.”

Bilbo decided to ignore the last part of the orc’s statement.  “No, I mean...it’s just a saying.  I’m not actually completely frozen.”

“...Ah.”

Bilbo didn’t have a reply, and instead miserably looked at his fingers.  “I think they’ve gone blue…”

Azog managed to get a fire going, although it was small and wet and sputtered feebly.  Bilbo went to sit by it anyway because it was warm. 

\---

“It’s cold,” Bilbo complained.

Azog nodded, and poked at their miserable fire with a stick.  “The wood’s too wet to get a proper warm burn.  It’ll just smoulder, at this rate.”

Bilbo shivered and hugged himself and then said, “...but  _ why _ did your superior order you to go to Mordor? Weren’t you hunting our company?” to distract himself.

Azog stared at him for a long while before replying, carefully, “I have a weapon.  I am delivering it to its...proper master.”

Bilbo felt something uneasy beginning to bloom in the pit of his belly.  “A weapon?”

“Yes.”  Azog looked annoyed.

Bilbo looked at him, and then at Daisy.   _ What weapon is possibly so small? _

Azog continued poking at the fire.  “Tell me about the Shire.”

Bilbo bit his lip, and decided to think about the matter of the weapon later.  “...fine.”

\---

The next night they traveled together in silence.  They were taking the long way around the dead marshes because according to Azog, there was no clear path through the marsh.  They were wedged between the foot of the mountains and the edge of the marshlands with only a few miles of woodland between them and the marshes-- but Azog insisted on staying as close to the mountains as they could.  “There’s bad things living in those marshes.  Dead things moving,” Azog had muttered under his breath. “S’not right.”

Azog had also insisted on Bilbo wearing the orc’s shaggy animal pelt, because he didn’t want to be inconvenienced by Bilbo’s inability to stay warm.  Bilbo was  _ still _ cold, but without the pelt it would have been worse beneath the cool shade of the forest.  Much worse.

“How can you stand being so cold,” Bilbo griped, “I mean, you’re hardly wearing anything at all!”

Azog-- who was sitting behind Bilbo and guiding Daisy with his massive thighs--shrugged.  “I was bred to have tough skin.”

“Yeah, but having leathery skin doesn’t make you warmer.”

Azog hummed.  Bilbo sighed, and leaned back against the orc.  “I’m going to sleep.  This is boring-- I can’t see anything!”

There was no reply from the huge orc, so Bilbo closed his eyes and tried to dream.

\---

The next thing Bilbo was aware of was Daisy’s fur bristling uncomfortably against his thighs.  She was growling, echoing low through the dark.

“Azog?” Bilbo asked nervously.

“Shh,” Azog said under his breath.  Bilbo quieted.  Daisy’s snarling cut off, and he could feel her tensing below him, all coiled muscle and ready to spring.

From out in the distance, vaguely to the right, came a shuffling noise.  Bilbo leaned back, feeling nervous.   _ What the hell is out there? _

Whatever was out there continued rustling about, and Bilbo could hear it whuffing and thumping.  Daisy whined and started to back up, but with a sharp jab in her side from Azog she held fast.

Then, the bushes parted and Bilbo saw a huge lumbering shadow-- Azog gave a low curse-- and then the creature saw them and growled.  It was a deep, guttural sound, and Bilbo felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.  “Azog,” he said, voice pitched high, “What the  _ hell _ is that?”

The beast stood on its hind legs and roared.  Daisy whimpered.

And then the creature leapt forward.

\---

It had happened so fast that Bilbo hardly had time to gasp.

Shouting, Azog wheeled Daisy about.  She was already sprinting, ready to escape from whatever the hell it was, but then Azog did something with his legs and she turned so that the beast-- huge and stinking of rotten flesh-- barrelled past them.  Bilbo was clutching at the saddlehorn with white knuckled fingers, determined not to fall off.

Then the beast howled and turned on its heels and was running back at them, and it was getting closer and closer and Azog wasn’t moving and neither was Daisy, so Bilbo closed his eyes tight with terror and shook in his seat.  He dared not hope.

What happened next were only sounds: there was a great big roar and then iron shlunking into flesh and two pained howling cries.  Something wet splattered over Bilbo’s back.  Then Daisy lurched to the side and Bilbo lost his grip, and he was falling, hard onto the dirt, and then the darkness took him.

\---

Bilbo woke to the sound of something--someone--keening low in pain. 

It was still mostly dark when he opened his eyes, but the low pink light on the horizon signalled the coming of dawn.  His head hurt, and, groaning, Bilbo sat up.  He could see the great big shape of the beast lying motionless on the ground.  It smelled like rancid grease.  Peering closer in the gloom, he could see the white form of Daisy, pacing nervously around the dead creature’s head.  She was whining, and it looked like she was limping, too.

Bilbo frowned.   _ Where’s Azog? _

There was a low moan coming from the direction of Daisy.  _...Shit, _ Bilbo thought.

Painstakingly, Bilbo stood and made his way over to the warg.  She laid her ears back flat when she saw him, but didn’t growl, and, after he’d lowered his eyes, she let him pass.

There, kneeling in a puddle of red-black blood, was Azog.  His prosthetic was shoved through the creature’s maw and parts of the back of its skull, and most of his arm was still the beast’s great big mouth.  He was hunched over the creature’s head, and from an angle, it almost looked like he was cradling it close in a gruesome parody of a mother’s embrace.  It had been a bear, Bilbo saw.  A great big one.   _...Like Beorn. _  Bilbo swallowed down his mild discomfort.

“Azog?” Bilbo said, low and cautious.

The orc made a high pitched noise and trembled a little.

“Azog,” Bilbo repeated, “Are you alright?”

Azog’s response was slow and ragged.  “N-no.  I can’t-- I can’t move my arm.”

“Shit,” Bilbo said, before putting a hand on Azog’s back.  The orc flinched, and then made a low noise of pain when he jostled his arm.  “Sorry,” Bilbo mumbled.  “Let me see.”

Azog groaned and shifted, a little, just enough that Bilbo could look inside the beast’s mouth.  His prosthetic was shoved through the roof of the bear’s mouth, and it looked like it was stuck. Peering closer, and Bilbo saw what the real problem was.  The iron rod had been shoved so hard on impact that it had twisted within Azog’s arm, and it had ripped through most of his forearm, so that only a small piece of flesh at Azog’s elbow held the whole prosthetic in place.

Bilbo swallowed.  “Oh,” he said, “that does look... _ bad. _ ”

“It..feels bad.”  Azog shuddered, and Bilbo tried to swallow down his pity.

“I..I think we’re going to have to take the prosthetic out of your arm.”

Azog’s head snapped up.  “No!”

“It’s bleeding really badly, and your arm is super torn up.”

“We. Are.  _ Not. _ Taking my prosthetic out.”  Azog enunciated each word clearly and with force.

Bilbo sat and thought for a moment.  “I could try to yank the iron from the bear’s head.”

Azog nodded.  “Do it.  I’m...a-ah..getting dizzy from kneeling for so long.”

_ And the blood loss, _ Bilbo didn’t add.

Bilbo positioned himself so he had both arms in the bear’s mouth (its teeth were scraping his forearm in warning), hands grasping the iron rod so he could yank it from the roof of its mouth.

“I’m going to pull at the count of three.”

Azog nodded, face pale and strained.

“One...two... _ three! _ ” Bilbo yanked as hard as he could.

The iron didn’t budge.  Azog made a low moaning noise when the shaft twisted a little.

“Shit,” said Bilbo.  “I’m going to try and brace it with my foot.”

“Ugnh,” was all Azog replied.

After Bilbo had propped his feet up on the bottom of the beast’s jaws, he pulled again.  “One, two,  _ three! _ ”

This time, Azog  _ howled _ .  Bilbo could hear Daisy growling behind him, but he kept pulling until finally,  _ finally _ , with an awful sucking sound, the prosthetic pulled loose.  Azog immediately collapsed backwards, curling in around himself and clutching his ruined arm close.

Bilbo blinked at his arms.  They were covered in red congealing blood and black ichor.  He wrinkled his nose.   _ Disgusting. _

Bilbo turned to Azog, who was trembling, eyes clenched shut.  Daisy was sniffling near his face, carefully, and making low whining noises.

“Azog?”  Bilbo said, quietly.

Azog took a few moments to respond, and when he did, it was sluggish.

“Let me see,” Bilbo coaxed, but as soon as he touched Azog’s side the orc bared his teeth.

Bilbo backed off.

One tense minute passed, and then, finally, Azog opened his eyes.  “Hobbit,” he rasped, “We need to stop the bleeding.”

Bilbo nodded.  Slowly, Azog extended his arm, holding the end of the prosthetic aloft so it wouldn’t pull at his arm any longer.  

Seeing the wound in proper light made Bilbo suck in air between his teeth.   _ That prosthetic is going to have to come out.  There’s no way it’ll ever be stable again. _

Thinking quickly, Bilbo cut the sleeve of his shirt off, then slit it from the wrist to the shoulder, using the knife in Azog’s pack (it was the same knife, Bilbo noted with mild annoyance, that he’d taken from Bilbo in the first place.)  Then he cut the the cloth again so that he had two fabric strips.  He used those to bind Azog’s arm.

By the time he was done the orc was shaking from the pain, mostly unable to speak.

“We need to get away from this carcass,” Bilbo said.

Azog didn’t seem to hear him.

Bilbo stood.  “Azog,” he said, a little louder.

Azog’s head jerked up and he looked at Bilbo with bleary eyes.

“We need to go.” Bilbo gestured to Daisy.

Azog blinked, slowly, and then stumbled to his feet unsteadily.  He was cradling his bandaged arm to his chest.

Daisy whined, and then limped over to Azog.  She had a wide slash across the top of her hind quarters, Bilbo noticed. Fortunately, it seemed superficial.  Azog leaned on her, heavily, breathing too quickly for Bilbo’s liking.

Bilbo pursed his lips.

... _ We need to find a cave. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhah, angst. I couldn't help myself. a lot of shit went down in this chapter.  
> drop me a comment to let me know what you liked !! :)

**Author's Note:**

> wow, this was supposed to be a little ficlet but it kind of ran away from me...  
> I ended up making azog somewhat sympathetic in this. that's mostly because he's one of my favorite characters (he's a total bastard and irredeemable and i love that)  
> please leave me feedback to let me know what you liked!!


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